


You Are Not The Father: A Love Story

by catholicschoolgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Good television, I suppose. Ruining lives is always good television.”</p>
<p>Or the one where Zayn and Harry meet backstage on a Maury paternity test episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Not The Father: A Love Story

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be funny but it's not, really.
> 
> Also there's no sex and I firmly believe that all fanfiction must have sex so.
> 
> Dedicated to Crystal & Emily because Emily came up with the title and Crystal is a huge enabler. Also dedicated to Frida even though I didn't send this to her lol oops.
> 
> Un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine, I wrote this in an hour, I know nothing about what really happens backstage on Maury, this is all ridiculously untrue.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up lounging around backstage on the set of Maury, but here he was.

Like, this definitely hadn’t been a part of his life plans. He’d always wanted to sit in on an episode of Maury, booing deadbeat dads and sloppy cheaters but like, actually being one of the participants in a paternity test segment? Nope. Definitely hadn’t factored into the bucket list.

See the thing was, he had just been really drunk. Not so drunk that he hadn’t used a condom - he distinctly remembered ripping the wrapper with his teeth and rolling it over the head of his cock with shaking, uncoordinated fingers before having pretty basic, uninspired, forgettable sex - and the rubber hadn’t busted, and that was the only time they had gotten together, so like. He really shouldn’t be here. He definitely wasn’t the father. But Harry did feel bad. This was her fourth time on the show, and if Harry’s math was correct, they had probably hooked up when she was already something like two months pregnant. Harry knew that he was the better option out of the guys she had slept with around the time she conceived. He couldn’t blame her, not exactly, for hoping, wanting something better for her son than the empty space, distinctly father-shaped, in her own life. It just wasn’t him, that was all.

He would be nice, though. He had taken the test a few days earlier and they had already filmed his intro segment. Harry tried to make his statements clear, concise and polite. The producer had already told him that there were nothing but nice things to say about him. He wouldn’t be booed. And he wouldn’t receive a positive paternity result - well, the producer hadn’t told him that, Harry just knew it. After today, he could go back to his life of having safe, casual sex with people who ideally wouldn’t come to him two years later saying, “I think you’re the father of my child.”

He had gotten a trip to Connecticut out of all of this, though. That wasn’t too bad. Plus Jerry Springer was taping in the same studio, so Harry was trying to get tickets to a taping after Maury’s. One of the producers told him that she could probably get him the hook-up. Harry was a little concerned that this producer was so flirty, but whatever. Jerry Springer would probably be a lot of fun.

An intern dropped Harry off in a tiny green room and told him to sit tight, that she would come back when it was time for him to go on stage. “The entire taping lasts about an hour, you’ll be in and out,” she said.

“Unless I’m the father,” Harry joked. “Then this will last for eighteen years.”

“Everyone knows you aren’t, so don’t even,” the intern said with an eyeroll. “I’ll come get you in thirty.”

Harry nodded and the intern let herself out, closing the door with a soft snick.

Harry sighed and stretched out on the couch, pulling out a banana from his back pocket and turning it upside down to begin peeling it. Harry was in the process of shoving half of it down his throat when the most beautiful guy he had ever seen came careening through the door, cursing loudly at one of the producers.

“She can fuck off, you can fuck off, this entire show can fuck off, and you can air all of that,” the guy was yelling.

“Zayn, you knew that she might say something like this - ”

“She’s a fucking liar, she’s going to make me look like a complete piece of shit on national television!” the guy - Zayn - continued. “I thought this shit was supposed to be fucking fake?”

“We do provide help for guests who need more of a script - ”

“Ah, fuck off, really,” Zayn finished, slamming the door in the producer’s face. “Come back when I have to go on,” he added, leaning against the door and yelling into the wood. “Fuck this.”

Zayn stood by the door, resting his head against it and seething quietly, before noticing Harry across the room, banana still halfway down his throat. Zayn’s glare faltered a bit.

“Where’d you get a banana?”

Harry shrugged. “Found it in the elevator at the Marriott.”

Zayn frowned. “Do you have another one?”

Harry reached into his other pocket and pulled out a tangerine, holding it up for Zayn to see. “Would this do?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Zayn said and Harry tossed it to Zayn with a rather weak underhand throw. Zayn caught it easily enough, unpeeling with deft fingers. Harry watched him unabashedly as he finished off his own piece of fruit. This guy, Zayn, he was just really pretty, okay. Glittering hazel eyes, hair that was expertly styled, cinnamon colored skin, sharp cheekbones, full lips, and a slight build - he wasn’t exactly Harry’s type, per se, but Harry could make an exception for anyone who made peeling a tangerine look like foreplay. “I’m Zayn,” he added, not even bothering to look up from his fruit.

“Harry. You’re not like a sexy decoy, right?” Harry asked, twiddling his banana between his fingers. Zayn looked up from his tangerine and just laughed, his voice this rich, almost ringing noise. Harry could get used to hearing that sound, was probably already a little addicted to it.

“Definitely not,” Zayn replied, although his subsequent smile, all teeth, seemed to insinuate otherwise. God he was hot.

“So you’re here for a paternity test, then?” Harry inquired, flinching a bit when Zayn looked up again and sneered at him.

“Yeah, made the extremely stupid mistake of sleeping with my fiancee’s best friend,” Zayn mumbled. “I’m not the father, I know I’m not, I’m stupid but not that stupid - but. Good television, I suppose. Ruining lives is always good television.”

“Yeah,” Harry echoed, taking a smaller bite out of his banana. “I’m here for that, too. Paternity test. I’m also not . . . Like, she’s super nice and all but. I just know. She’s been here a few times, and like, I would love to be able to help her son, but.”

Zayn pursed his lips, popping a bit of tangerine into his mouth. “Well, aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The crowd is going to love you. ‘I’m not the father, but I wish I could be!’ Rich boy with a heart of gold,” Zayn mumbled, his tone cutting even though Harry had to strain his ears to hear. Harry opened his mouth to protest but Zayn stopped him with another eye roll. “I recognize your jacket, all right? I work at Saks, I might hate it there but I know Rag & Bone when I see it.”

Harry slumped in his seat and pouted. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, pretty boy,” Zayn retorted, finishing off his tangerine and tossing the peel into a wastebasket by the corner.

Harry frowned even further. “I wasn’t going to say anything about you being here, but you’re judging me and you don’t even know me.”

Zayn opened his mouth again, no doubt to say something else that would make Harry sad, self-conscious and yet still horny, but the door was pushed open, an intern skittishly calling Zayn’s name as she stuck her head through the doorframe. Zayn nodded at Harry and mumbled, “Good luck” before making his way out of the dressing room.

 

About an hour and a half later, Harry was standing outside of the studio, two tickets to see Jerry Springer in his back pocket. He had just finished holding a child that had been confirmed by a DNA paternity test not to be his, handing the boy over to his mother, a woman whose face had aged so much in the two years since Harry had spent a night with her. It had been one thing to know, based off of like, logic, that this little boy wasn’t his, but it was another to have it confirmed by voices outside of the one in Harry’s head. It was sad, really. Fucking unfair. Harry hoped this boy would have a strong father figure in his life soon.

Harry saw him across the parking lot - Zayn. He was standing under a tree, kicking at it a bit with his Converse as a cigarette dangled from his mouth. Harry had snuck out of the green room to watch some of Zayn’s segment, cringed when Zayn was booed during his entrance. The story definitely hadn’t been spun in Zayn’s favor - his ex-fiancee and the alleged baby mama both ripping him to shreds before he even stepped foot on stage. Maury read the results out before it got too out of hand, five simple words - “You are not the father.”

Zayn hadn’t done any backflips, but he did high five a guy in the audience while the two girls ran backstage, collapsing on the ground and crying while wrapped around each other. Zayn’s fiancee begged for forgiveness, which was stupid in Harry’s opinion because Zayn did sleep with her best friend, like that wasn’t made up at all. Zayn had just walked away, telling Maury that there wasn’t anything in that relationship to salvage - “I don’t need to talk to your relationship counselor, I just wanna go back home.” It was all very exciting television.

Zayn didn’t look very cool right now, though. He just looked like a very lost guy kicking a tree.

Harry walked over without even really thinking about it, tapping Zayn on the shoulder to get his attention. “Do you want to go see Jerry Springer?”

Zayn just kind of stared at Harry before blowing a cloud of smoke into his face. “You want to go watch people make a fool of themselves on national television after what we just went through? Did you not get enough schadenfreude for one day? Are you crazy?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe. Do you want to come?”

Zayn smiled almost conspiratorily, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping out the ember. “Yeah, I think I would like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ehhh I'll probably write more at some point.


End file.
